Hermione Weasley and the Minister for Magic
by ShardedGlass
Summary: Kingsley Shacklebolt brought great prosperity. Hermione Weasley enjoyed this in abundance, enjoying a successful and satisfying family life and career. However, when Shacklebolt dies unexpectedly Hermione is voted to be his successor. And with the Wizarding World threatening to erupt into unprecedented chaos, she will have to be a great leader or risk losing everything.
1. Chapter 1

It had been a chilly night when Hermione had returned to her comfortable cottage. After extensive checks she apparated from Bulgaria to Bath in the blink of an eye, appearing in her chilly back garden. The cold nipped her fingers uncomfortably as she reached for the doorknob, twisting it and forcing the door open. Though the cottage looked modest, she stepped inside a kitchen large enough to house the Wizarding population. This was the place she had come to call home in the past ten years. Considering her husband had amassed a vast array of wealth, she could probably do better, but this was a pen of memories and aspirations.

She and Ron had moved there after Hermione had completed her NEWTS. It was originally small, but attained wealth and a lot of complicated magic ensured that it had at least twenty bedrooms. Thus she strode is, slinging her bag over the rack which she had done every day after work for the past two years. Considering she had been away for two days, she had missed home a lot, and as she strode past wooden island counters she recounted all the memories the kitchen alone brung: scraping for morsels of food with Ron when they were poor, reading news of her promotions, announcing to Harry and Ginny that she was expecting children, having Rose and Hugo bouncing into the room and crying with delight upon discovering that they weren't squibs and that James Potter had lied.

Little did she know she would be creating a new memory.

Ron was there, as usual. He held the Daily Prophet in his hands, reading articles about the demise of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Hermione glanced at Kingsley's aged features smiling triumphantly whilst she tried to repress a sigh. Only three weeks ago he had passed away from _Magickal Neurodegenerative Disease _\- it was common in old age. After losing the ability to cast magic, death was pretty inevitable. Kingsley was a powerful and respectable Wizard, so had managed to hide such a condition from those closest to him bar his immediate family. Hermione had worked extremely closely with Kingsley - he had even appointed her the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement almost a decade ago.

"Alright Hermione," Ron greeted her with a smile.

Hermione tried to smile back. Their relationship had been cordial for the past decade or so - it wasn't loveless, as some conjectured, but the throngs of passion that had brought them together during the strife of the Second Wizarding War had eventually waned. Hermione never admitted it, but had it not been for the Wizarding War she doubted she and Ron would have ever married. But she was glad it happened, even after reflection Hermione knew there was no-one better to spend her life with.

"I still can't get over it," she sighed, waving her wand and watching ingredients bounce out of numerous cupboards and align themselves. She sat next to Ron, pressing her cold hands onto his shoulder. "Kingsley and I were incredibly close. He was a great man. We destroyed prejudiced laws together, we helped liberate the thousands of oppressed magical creatures." She leant forward, trying to not hear her voice break. "And he didn't once tell me that he was suffering. I wish I had time to prepare for this..."

"You'll be okay," Ron leaned into her, kissing her cheeks lightly. After his lips tentatively brushed against her, the balding Wizard kissed her again more confidently as she tried to hold back tears. "We know that it'll be okay."

"The Ministry's diplomats are so strained they had to send me to Bulgaria," Hermione sniffled, though Ron already knew that. She kept repeating the same things over and over again, hoping that their occurrence would make the situation seem more real (though she didn't dare mention the friendly meeting she had Viktor Krum). "All these countries surrounding us knew what a great man we had at our helm. But their condolences mean nothing," she sighed. "I shook the Bulgarian Ministers' hand, I should have been privileged... But considering the circumstances..."

She burst into tears, throwing her head into Ron's robe. His hands brushed the back of her windswept hair. For five minutes she allowed herself to be vulnerable and cry in the security of her own home. Then she withdrew, sniffling and trying to keep composed when she looked at Ron.

"Maybe it's time for you to resign," Ron said to her, smiling. Hermione shook her head tearfully as she stroke her cheek. "You know me and George have been running the Weasley Empire well - we've expanded our confectionary range to Brazil with the help of Hugo and Leo. We make more than enough money to be comfortable. You've been working too hard for others, Hermione. I think you need to take time to focus on yourself," Hermione paused and he held her hands tightly, trying to keep the resentment out of his tone as he spoke his next sentence: "For _us_."

"I-I don't know," Hermione mumbled tentatively. "Maybe," trying to morph the conversation into a less awkward one, she jerked her head towards the abandoned _Prophet_. "What have they said about Kingsley now? I hope Astra Scarleta hasn't been slandering him again," Rita Skeeter may have died fifteen years ago - but Hermione still distrusted the Prophet's integrity.

"No, no," Ron said defensively, snatching it and showing it for her to see. Hermione saw the headline and her heart lurched:

_Ministry in turmoil as a divided Wizengamot votes._

"Oh..."

"Is it true?" Ron pressed. Bar the very basics, Hermione did not delve deeply into the details of the Ministry. Not that Ron didn't deserve to know; she had spent his fair share of time working as a prominent Auror. He just seldom inquired.

"It's been sensationalised a little bit," Hermione smiled. "Lana McDermot is a high ranking member of the Wizengamot and is known for being an exceptionally talented witch. But she is a little..." Hermione chose her words carefully. "Selfish. She is proposing she become Minister for Magic because it is well known that despite her abilities she is little more than a Career politician," Hermione tried to keep the contempt out of her voice and lazily flicked her wand, watching multiple ingredients throw themselves into a conjured pot in very measured amounts. "The rest of the Wizengamot propose Auralius Fudge become Minister," that earned a skeptical look from Ron. "Don't underestimate him because of his father! He has quite the resumé. Order of Merlin, First class, Auror, Head Unspeakable and the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement... Well, he probably won't be working for me anymore!"

Ron smiled. "And you like him?"

"Well, working with him has always been a pleasure..." Hermione's voice trailed off. "But I have never forgotten who my past opponents were. When he worked in the Wizengamot twenty-years ago, he tried to oppose the reform that your father, Kingsley and I proposed, the legislature that ensured Muggle Borns were equals in Wizarding society."

"Prick," was all Ron had to say.

Hermione did not reply. She glanced at the Prophet article once again and stood up, deciding to attend to her soup more manually. With a mumbled incantation water filled the pot of soup and she put it on to boil. It had beef and carrots - Ron's favourite. She stirred the soup whilst on auto-pilot, but her mind was on everything. On the events that had taken her to where she now was; the successes and the failures; the memories she had - especially with Kingsley.

His tenure saw political reform which she had played a massive part in. It saw a quick recovery from the Second Wizarding War. It saw the creation of a politically neutral board that ensured Hogwarts was once the haven it had been. It saw an era where Dark Wizards were the extremely weak minority who had crumbled in the wake of Voldemort's death.

It was a moment of peace, allowing Hermione to feel as if her children had a secure future. And they did: Their youngest daughter Willow was doing well in her third year of Hogwarts and Hugo had helped bring immense wealth to the Weasley Empire and was definitely bound to inherit it along with George's eldest son, Leo. However, Rose's future was regrettably not quite as secure, but she was a much brighter witch than even Hermione could hope to be, and once worked in the Department of Mysteries.

... Had things gone differently all those years ago, had the Ministry not had the calm yet firm guidance of Kingsley, Hermione knew her children could be secure to develop as much as possible. Now she hoped that this stability endured, for the sake of future generations...

"Hugo is a genius," Ron said triumphantly to himself.

"Hm?"

"He has secured those Shanghain Dragon Scales for the Weasley's ultimate flametazzling fireworks," Ron announced, shifting another letter - the disgruntled look on his face told Hermione that it was a hefty bill from the Muggle authorities. He flicked through another letter and smiled a little bit more. "Oh, brilliant. Ginny has agreed to come here for Christmas. Wouldn't want her and the kids spending Christmas alone after You-Know-Who ruined their lives."

Hermione didn't say anything. And You-Know-Who didn't mean Voldemort; it meant Harry Potter himself.

"I told the Herbology Weekly I wanted to cancel my subscription," Ron grumbled. He tore open a final letter, opening it boredly. It was purple with a green signature, indicating that it was from the Ministry, which meant that it could be about anything. But Ron's expression told Hermione that the letter had something shocking. Whether positive or negative, she could not wager a guess.

"Ron?"

Hermione turned around to face him as his fair skin grew even paler. He struggled to keep his grip on the letter. Hermione tried to remain calm, and repeated her spouse's name once again.

Finally, he announced the news.

"It's from the Wizengamot Hermione," he said tentatively as he used to many years ago. He turned the parchment aside, showing her a rather long letter. "I-I think you better read it. They've voted you Minister for Magic."


	2. Chapter 2

"Do I look okay?" Hermione asked Ron, stepping out of the large room which was filled with her clothes. Her years of hard work and dedication to academia had allowed many to misconceive the notion that Hermione wasn't effeminate or didn't enjoy feminine pursuits, which she knew was wrong. Hermione enjoyed buying (or even conjuring!) clothes and looking pretty. And now she needed to look as nice as ever. The Wizarding paparazzi were already kicking quite a fuss up outside her house, but a nice charm ensured that they remained strictly outside.

Hermione spun around, ensuring that her green dress danced around her heels. Ron massaged his temples, barely watching her and being consumed by stress. Without any affirmation, Hermione glanced at her reflection in the mirror and decided that the dress would not do. She tore it off her body and stumbled for other garments of clothing.

"No, that simply cannot do," she said, shuffling through coat hangers. "I'm Minister for Magic, not a supermodel. What fifty year old tries to dress so unchastely?" She removed a simple white shirt, accompanying it with a black skirt. As she wrestled herself into them, feeling incredibly nervous, Ron stood up and glanced at her.

"I don't know what we're going to do," he frowned. "But I think I ought to send an owl to Hugo. No doubt he'll be here, and if he arrives he will undoubtedly face the wrath of the _Prophet._"

"No, no," Hermione buttoned up her shirt. "It's fine, just lift the anti-apparation-"

A ginger eyebrow raised. "Do you really think we can take that risk, Hermione? Do you know how many people are probably trying to apparate right into this room?"

Hermione paused. Ron was right, but she wasn't going to admit that. She didn't even know how she thought about this whole situation - she was Minister? How could that happen? She never considered herself a contender and was moderately content with her job, and she was sure no-one else had wanted to give her the position. Did she want the role? What did she plan to do once she had met the Wizengamot? She barely had time to think. Her mind only registered stress.

As she searched through her extensive collection of shoes she picked professional looking black heels, stepping into them and glancing at her reflection in the mirror. She was already fretting about an aspect of her job: her appearance. Despite its fame, the title of Minister for Magic had no overt job description, and she was pretty sure there wasn't a dress code. She wasn't wearing make-up, and she didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. And whilst she was comfortable in her clothes, she wore similar outfits everyday to work. But maybe it was underdressed and too bland for someone as revered as the Minister.

"Okay..." Hermione tried not to hyperventilate, using her hands to tame her hair slightly. She was unimpressed with it - it was greying, and that certainly couldn't be seen in public. "I-I think I'm ready."

"You'll be fine," Ron wrapped his arms around her waist. She saw his kind smile in the mirror as he glanced down at her. "When I stop to think about it, there's nobody better for the role."

"I'm no Kingsley Shacklebolt..."

"Kingsley trusted you more than anybody," Ron told her, releasing her from his kind grip. Hermione paused. If he trusted her so much, why did he not tell her of his condition? Why did he not prepare her for _this_?

"I'm going now," Hermione paused, her stomach twisting nervously when she thought about the paparazzi she would have to face outside. "Ron, I can't face _them_. I want to apparate."

"Oh. Erm," Ron thought. "I'll lift the charm and put it back in place then. I guess I'm prepared to deal with the consequences."

"Thank you," Hermione brushed her hand against his cheek. It was still cold from her battle with the cold only fifteen minutes ago. "You know that I love you," she told him. He smiled back brightly as he removed his wand. Life had been so busy in the past few years that Hermione couldn't even recall the last time she told Ron that she loved him.

Ron waved his wand wildly, casting a spell to retract the abilities of the anti-apparition charm. A sound similar to water being sucked down a plug filled the air, and Hermione closed her eyes and apparated to her destination of choice as the sound of people apparating into her bedroom filled her ears. Before Hermione could see Ron's amusing reaction, she was surrounded by the red-brick buildings of Whitehall, London.

Positive that nobody had seen her as she emerged from the shadows, Hermione walked into the sea of Muggles as if she were one of them. She glanced at all of their blank, tired faces. They were probably making their way home from work, unaware of her problems, large responsibilities and even extremely large status.

Hermione made her way underground, and when entering the toilets she stood in a line of Muggles who were urgently waiting to go to the toilet, jigging around impatiently. She thought that she was in the wrong place until she noticed the line of Wizards in the opposite queue, some familiar, some alien to her, but all of them were gawping at her. She tried to repress a frown. Looked as if news did spread extremely fast - the next _Prophet _wouldn't be delivered until tomorrow morning, but Hermione was now fairly certain that not even magic could make information spread as quickly as the word of mouth.

Apologising profusely after pushing through the Muggle queue to reach the Wizarding one, Hermione tried to wait at the bottom of the line like a normal person. However, the old man in front of her took off his had and tilted it at her.

"Mrs. Weasley, it is a pleasure, please, go to the front of the queue-"

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but before she can say anything she was ushered to the front of the queue. The Muggles gave the wizards extremely funny looks, but Hermione knew Muggles had a tendency to ignore the strange goings on around them, often dismissing it as the result of the mentally ill or the drug afflicted. Hermione was forced into one of the toilet cubicles and repeated the process she was used to every day for the past thirty years.

She stepped into the toilet and felt herself be forced down a void when she pulled the chain. The extremely secure method of entering the Ministry was the only remnant of change that had remained from the corrupt Thicknesse era of government.

Hermione found herself in the Ministry lobby. She quickly tried to rush past the large statue of Wizards and Muggles of all ages and backgrounds linking hands around the exterior of a gushing fountain, hoping it would obscure her from the hoard of eager Wizards and Witches that remained. Thankfully, her co-workers (or subordinates) weren't too interfering, though they stopped and gawped as if they couldn't quite believe her success either. As Hermione rushed forward hurriedly, she heard paparazzi try to hurry towards her.

"Mrs Weasley!" A levitating microphone almost smacked her jaw. Its owner was a couple of metres behind Hermione, accompanied with camera men. She struggled to catch up in her extremely large heels. "This is Astra Scarleta for the Daily Prophet, please _do _tell us if the rumours are true, and what you think of the matter? Wh-"

She gave a strangled cry as her last question was halted and two magical guards gripped both of her arms, dragging her back as her cameramen stood around awkwardly. Hermione grinned as she made her way towards the nearest elevator. That would be one less issue she wouldn't have to deal with.

* * *

"Ah, Mrs Weasley."

Hermione was greeted by Enricos Delos, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. She had always worked with him and always respected him; his pale skin almost seemed to blend with his prestigious robes, skin that Hermione noted was quite flawless considering he was almost a hundred years old. His blue eyes were milky and rumour had it he was blind, though he could navigate perfectly. It was no secret he was a powerful Wizard, and a wise Wizard at that. Hermione trusted him, and considering he passed Wizengamot decisions, she wondered if she could trust his decision.

"Good morning, Enricos," Hermione curtsied politely. Or maybe he should be bowing to her. She was still confused and still didn't know how this whole thing worked.

"There is no need to bow to your inferiors Ms. Granger," Enricos smiled, turning to the forty-nine other Wizengamot members. Many of them seemed displeased by Hermione's presence, but most just kept a neutral expression. Enricos waved his rosewood wand and a chair was conjured out of nowhere, instructing Hermione to sit. Feeling incredibly small, she made herself comfortable in it. "Naturally, you know why you're here."

"Of course," Hermione said tentatively. "You all decided to elect me."

"Not all of us," Lana McDermot, a raven haired witch who was perched next to Enricos, told Hermione bluntly.

"Now, now, Lana... We don't want such aggression," Enricos scolded her, not even turning to face her. "Obviously unanimity is not needed in the Wizengamot for a Minister to be elected." Hermione nodded, she knew how Ministers were elected. "But the majority felt as if Lana's disposition was not perfect for a Minister. Auralius Fudge was also not chosen," Hermione glanced at the young, grey haired man, who was looking almost indifferent.

"No doubt the Fudge legacy has left us all tentative," Lana smirked as the Wizengamot members reacted with booing or applause. Auralius glanced at her, unmoving for a second as she laughed bitterly.

"At least it isn't my own actions that have made me an undesirable brand," Auralius retorted calmly. "I have been denied the Minister position due to the legacy left by my father, you're being denied the position because of your own actions."

This gathered an even more fierce reaction. Hermione couldn't believe it - some members of the Wizengamot applauded raucously whilst their support for Auralius, while some people seemed entirely vexed by his statement. They whipped out their wands, some even launching curses. Hermione stood, gawping at the Punch and Judy politics while flashes of light darted around her vision like the flashes of a camera.

Enricos passively tried to deal with the situation, ensuring spells rebounded and hit walls and ceilings rather than people as he thrashed his wand fiercely. Hermione smashed her handbag into the nearest table, the loud noise of it capturing everybody's attention:

"Stop!" Hermione screeched: "Stop, stop, stop!"

Silence dawned. Some Wizards and Witches were already sat down looking shocked, but the enthusiastic fighters and participants even froze. They tucked their wands away and obeyed Hermione, sitting down. Soon Hermione could hear nothing bar coughs and the anxious clearing of throats. She sat down and was glad that petty disputes were now solved. Something told her this job would be the death of her.

"Thank you for that, Minister," Enricos smiled. "As I said, we elected you. Granted, you were the first choice of the position for very few. Many people feel you too young and inexperienced," Hermione was fifty years old, but Ministers still tended to be much older. "Especially compared to the likes of Auralius and Lana. However, when it comes to electing either of them there is too much division surrounding the matter. You're very few people's first choice, but you're almost a unanimous second choice, so in a rushed vote we found that the only person electable was... You."

Auralius Fudge snorted and Lana McDermot rolled her eyes. It looked as if there was one thing the rivals could agree on: they both thought Hermione was incapable. They may have acknowledged her exceptional intelligence and ability, but Auralius disagreed with Hermione's constant drive for reform. In fact, he was altogether very traditional and conservative, much like his father. Hermione was shocked Kingsley ever elected him to the Wizengamot. Lana, however, would never settle for second place that wasn't her; she was only driven by money, and under Hermione's term Lana wouldn't be getting much.

"You were my first choice, though," Enricos remarked, a twinkle filling his blind eye. He shuffled through many pieces of parchment: "And naturally you were the first choice of Kingsley Shacklebolt?"

Mutters filled the Wizengamot chambers. "I was... What?"

"He made it clear in his will," Enricos mumbled an incantation, a projection of the will filling a space in the air for all to read. Kingsley had given all of his money and estate to his wife and children, but the desire of his will was very clear." Indeed, it was there for all to see. Obviously even as Minister Kingsley had no power to pick who the next Minister was, but he made his wishes very clear. "Kingsley elected us all to these chambers. We served him. I trust him more than anyone... So, I must say that I will vote in favour for Kingsley's wishes, especially if Kingsley approves."

Everybody mumbled in approval. Enricos milky eye glinted as he turned to face Hermione and she felt herself blushing. She didn't want this position but she felt so honoured that Kingsley and Enricos of all people had thought her competent enough to be the successor of Kingsley Shacklebolt of all people. As if making a point, Enricos turned to the Wizengamot and smiled:

"Now, I'm sure we just should clarify - all those in favour for having Mrs. Weasley as Minister, rise. We need at least twenty-five for her to be Minister."

Hermione watched the Wizengamot nervously. Enricos was the first to stand tall and proud, and a few tentatively followed his actions. But soon most Wizards and Witches had rose proudly, their lips being painted into a smile. Hermione was extremely thrilled when after a minute of low mutterings, forty out of fifty Wizards were on their feet. Lana and Auralius were naturally rooted to the ground, and a few of their most loyal followers had also remained seated. They seemed to observe the following Wizengamot members with nothing but contempt and betrayal.

"It's a done deal then," Enricos said. And that was that. But then he turned to Hermione. "But, Mrs. Weasley, if you do not desire the position you can obviously reject such a position... Obviously it would leave us at odds for who to elect," Enricos chuckled. Hermione knew that he could definitely become Minister if he was willing, but for some reason he wasn't. Not that it was Hermione's place to choose, with her never becoming a member of the Wizengamot.

"I..." This would be a lot of stress. She hadn't wanted to become Minister. But she had fought effortlessly for the rights of the underprivileged for many years, surely this will be her greatest opportunity? And she couldn't leave the Wizarding World she had saved those years ago collapse into shambles after so many years of prosperity and happiness. But could she even be trusted to keep the Wizarding World afloat? "Yes, Chief Warlock, I accept your proposal."

"Fantastic!" Enricos said out loud.

Hermione found herself overwhelmed by the applause that erupted from the Wizengamot. She had never felt so trusted. She looked at every face as the applause filled the room. Even those reluctant to elect her had clapped, albeit reluctantly.

Hermione knew that it would be the weekend. Then she'd have to go into the Ministry and make a pledge before picking the members of the Wizengamot, who would them influence who had what positions in the Ministry as well as accepting or rejecting laws that she or the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would propose laws. What laws would she propose? What was there to do? Hermione didn't know yet.

But she did know one thing:

No matter what changed in the Ministry, everything in her life was prepared to change.


End file.
